Fruit of Thy Labor
by Pseudonym Sylphmuse
Summary: A series of chapters, each relating a Weasely child and their favorite fruit. And why, nothing, nothing, can come between a Weasley and their food. First up: Bill!


Fruits of thy Labor

By Lacey Greengrass/Pseudonym Sylphmuse

Chapter 1

Bill's Apples

Bill paced around nervously, today was supposed to be his birthday! And on all his birthdays there were always (ALWAYS!) apples (the minimum limit 15 apples) on top of the table. He was nine years old now! But the empty table mocked what was the fact of his life by displaying a table empty. Without a single apple in sight, not one single apple! In sight! Now normally, Bill was a very laid-back, easy-going child (his parents blessed their luck every single day for that)… he wasn't feeling very laid-back or even easy-going.

But it was the last straw! Preposterous! He peeked yet again at the table, feeling a deep suspicion. A suspicion that only the most paranoid wizards would be able to empathize with. 

He strongly suspected that it was similar to what the scary man felt. After all, only the scary man refused to drink the apple cider Mrs. Weasley made. Bill found it a novelty that he was able to see his mother's nose spout fire before he died (luckily the fire struck the stove since his mum had been cooking when she had gotten… angry).

And the scary man had a whirling eye, which he said was to "hunt little bad boys with" and "send the death ray" at. Though the latter wasn't the exact phrase that the scary man used… but Bill was very sure that was what the scary man meant!

The thought sent chills down his bones. 

But the scary man wasn't what he feared today. _No, he isn't_, thought Bill and resolutely shook his red-haired head. Resolutely the little Weasley boy mustered all his courage to yet again look at the inevitable.

The table. Bill shuddered.

Innocently the wood shone back at his glare. Its startlingly clean surface contrasted brightly (a little TOO brightly to Bill) in the shadowed room but resolutely stayed bare. Even though Bill was giving it what he called the "weasely evil eye". Mrs. Weasley used the "Weasley evil eye" every single day when Arthur Weasley brought home something strange. All strange things included: muggle things, muggle stuff, and more muggle things.

And suddenly, Bill remembered that Mrs. Weasley would ALWAYS refill the table with apples if there weren't any. He sighed. Everything seemed just a little brighter now, after all, who could be sad when there were _apples_? Eagerly he strained his ears, desperately hoping for the sound of his mum walking down the road carrying a basket of juicy apples. He never knew why, but his mum seemed to think that the best time to buy apples was in the morning.

Before daylight! The thought of waking up at such an early hour terrified Bill.

He glanced out the windows. _Oops._ Well… so much for being scared!

Bill looked at the window expectantly. Nope, it was still dark… very dark.

Oh well! There were much better things to do, he thought resolutely. And settled himself down into a chair to wait for his mum.

He waited for half an hour (half an hour!) until he finally met up to the conclusion that maybe the apples weren't here. Reflectively he peeked at the Weasley clock… _oh_… the all of the Weasley hands twitched at "Sleeping Dead, Do not Disturb". Maybe he had woken up too early? _Wait a minute!_ The clock's hand with Bill on it twitched from it's place at "Up Insanely Early, Please send to St. Mungos ASAP".

Dumbly Bill stared at it. When what the clock's message was came to him… he stuck his tongue at it. _Humph. Clocks! What do they know?_ He thought. Then he sniffed experimentally but didn't smell any apples. Well… maybe he could go looking for apples!

The thought of it sent pleasant chills down his spine. And deciding just like that, he walked out the door. If he couldn't get any apples at home, he would just have to get it somewhere else! In the middle of walking outside, he paused. Was there any apple trees near the Burrow? _Hmm…_ and the entering into his mind with a pop, he remembered seeing an apple tree. THE apple tree (or at least it looked like an apple tree) he had found the day before.

And so the nine-year-old determinedly drifted out onto the spiraling road around the Burrow. _Now where was that tree?_ Furrowing his eyebrows, using the dim light of the moon and stars for his eyes and using his obsessive hound instincts… he began sniffing the air. _Mum had always told me that I had the nose of a boarhound when it came to locating my apples,_ he reflected. 

Especially Goya ones, yes… the thought made his mouth water, reddish-yellow skinned apples, _Mmmm_. But they weren't the only kind he loved; he loved them in as many different varieties as possible. Sour, sweet, it didn't matter as long as it was apple. As if in agreement his stomach grumbled ominously, demanding the beguiling fruit he and it loved. Even when that did earn both of them stomach cramps.

"I know, I know, you're hungry for apples too. But there aren't any… yet."

His stomach growled even harder.

"Hey! You're not the only one hungry y'know! I'm hungry too!"

His stomach grumbled, annoyed.

"Remember, you're _my_ stomach which means you feel whatever I feel! So stop complaining!" Bill snapped.

And with a start Bill remembered that he wasn't supposed to be talking to his _stomach_ of all things. Self-consciously he looked around, hoping that he wouldn't spot any nosy parents grinning at him. "I'm not going to talk to you anymore," he muttered, looking down at his stomach.

Luckily he didn't know that his parents were chuckling from a window from their bedroom. Or his Weasely blush (patented for the Weasley family) would come back in full force onto his cheeks. And whenever that happened his mother had the annoying habit of squeezing his cheeks (which brought his blush up a few notches as well). Cheek Pinching was evil! Bill was very sure of that! _And it should be outlawed too_, he thought rebelliously. But if he had known how amused they were when they saw him bringing his nose to the air, a nose ready to heighten any aromas that even distinctly resembled the fresh, savory smell (it's apples, nothing could beat _apples_) he loved only too well. 

Maybe… just maybe Bill could forgive them. As long as his mum didn't attack (it was an attack! Or why would it hurt so much?) his cheeks. 

But thoughts of annoying parents pushed aside, Bill wished there were apples around. And just in addition, he could show his mum and dad what a good nose he had. And as he soon as he smelled apples… he'd bolt, following the scent of apples even more fervently (not that he wasn't already fervent) if possible just to prove he could. 

If only he could lure apples the way his mum lured the chickens… 

…What a great idea! 

Only a scientist bordering on making history would've understood what young Bill felt.

"Here apples, apples," murmured the oldest son in the Weasley family, his boots pounding determinedly on the dirt road. The stubborn streak of all Weaselys ran a mile wide and especially for Bill when it came to finding his precious apples. The thought made him drool… apples filled with the crunch and sweetness that could always floated a grin from him. Bribery was important in the Weasley family and when it came down to it, Bill was the most gullible. His siblings knew that, his parents knew that too. They had needed only to bring out an apple and Bill; Bill would be ready for anything.

For most people observing this, it would bring about pity thinking him a poor bright boy who had lost the way just as he had caught the whiff of an apple.

Not that Bill cared about such people. Such a low opinion of apples flabbergasted him!

Turning around in a full 360-degrees circle, Bill came to stop and began scanning the clearing: _dirt, tree, apple tree, swing, chicken, wait a minute! Chicken? What's that doing here?_

Grunting the little Weasley picked up the chicken (it was a hen but Bill could never tell the difference between a hen and a rooster… they both looked the same after all). Holding the struggling chicken to his chest Bill scanned the clearing… again: _dirt, more dirt, swing… is that honey?_ Look, glance, step… taste…

"EEW!" Well that settled that, that wasn't honey on the swing.

__

Chicken scratches, Apple tree… apple tree! Apple Tree! App—at this point Bill's thoughts became an indecipherable babble. He paused in his jubilant thoughts when he remembered… now hadn't he looked at that tree already?

…

Suddenly, Bill felt very stupid. But he felt better seeing the apples, large, luscious, and… they weren't near the ground! That piece of information was felt to Bill like a slap in the face and he felt his jubilance fall down a deep… deep… very deep pit.

The moon could not have been more surprised when it caught the sight of a little boy (four feet tall!) stealthily arching upon an innocent tree loaded down with…apples. Almost to the point of ripening, they were true beauties in the mind of Bill. He unashamedly gawked at the gigantic *pippins hanging above his head. And determinedly began his trek up the tree, branch by branch (the chicken dropped down onto the ground with a loud squawk and taking the chance of freedom, it made a hasty escape). With his physical ascent, Bill's jubilance began scrabbling up its pit to arrive in a now very jubilant and content Bill. The apples were absolutely delicious (at least in form), not a worm had wheedled itself through them and the smooth satin slightly glowing skin of the apples had not a blemish at all. And their skins were just the right shade of perfection to the whimsical thoughts of one Bill Weasley. It reminded him of the sunset but in lighter shades; russet, streaked with gold with just a hint of white furrowed in.

He sighed, "Perfection." And just as quickly he eased himself up onto the branch. As high up as he was, he was suddenly aware of one thing.

Sunrise, just in time too and distancing himself from the apples of his dreams (they were everywhere! But Bill obstinately tried…), he turned himself to look at the sunset.

The sun lifted its head from above the earth, straddling lazily off of the horizon to spread its fair rays from above the earth reaching over and about. The Weasleys' property were in just the right spot to catch the rays of the sun as it raised itself up slowly inch by inch, a fair-haired monarch of the far-reaching sky. The clouds billowed around anxiously, in a full-wound flurry of fluffiness and mist. But the youth that sat under the bows of an apple tree never knew of this repeating beauty of time instead, instead he saw tawny rays slip around the apples into a flattering gleam that surrounding each and every separate apple, a tree of individuality. Bill saw all of this; his eyes widened as the light with a distinctive mark patted all the apples one by one.

He just _couldn't_ have resisted looking at his apples. 

The almost stricken Bill sat there throughout the whole morning, missing breakfast just to see the sunrise with its gentle rays striking _his _tree. Paradise was the perfect place to describe the state of mind the boy was in; peaceful, desirous paradise filled with strutting apples with florid wings flapping about in all the colors that apples could be. Which was how his parents found him, pretty much sitting cross-legged with the look of someone that had been just stupefied or whom was lovestricken.

Neither of his parents thought it was the former, no… with shaking heads at the former thought they knew it was the latter.

"Bill, come on dear let's get you home for your birthday party," cooed Mrs. Weasley in front of Bill. No effect at all, at least not in anyway of the physical sense besides a shake of the head and a tightened grip on the branch he was on. Molly Weasley frowned reminded strongly of a mule.

"Bill you can't stay up there all day," added Mr. Weasley, feeling a tad suspicious; Bill was wearing a grin… a grin like a Chinese Fireball dragon, an especially amused one at that. Throwing his caution away, Mr. Weasely admitted that he was _very_ suspicious. Weasleys never smiled like that, at least not with a very good (or very bad) reason. "Why don't you come back into the Burrow and eat a light lunch?" he asked, already knowing the futility of even asking a Weasley whom was wearing THE smile.

The response was the same, a shake of the head and a grin bordering on possibly evil (as evil as any Weasely's grin could be). He looked positively _alive _and _animated _even though he hadn't had a bit of food since well yesterday's supper. How could he? Why it would be an insult to his symbol of obsession, the apples would probably grudge him and take even longer to ripen… if they even saw him eating anything besides one of them.

And… he wasn't just gazing at the apples in adoration either (well… maybe he was). He had spent the entire morning finding just the right apple to eat in reverence to his birthday, a person couldn't be too careful when they were picking perfect apples. They had to pick an apple that wasn't all ripe but wasn't in its apple infancy either.

His parents meanwhile had began a long lecture, briberies, and everything parents had a habit of using in desperate times but Bill barely noticed or rather they couldn't have been able capture his attention span long enough for him to notice or even hear for that matter. Every single word from them went right through one of his ears and the out the other.

The trio of redheads stood (or sat, as Bill, absent-minded as he was, would never risk himself by standing on a branch of a very tall tree) there for half an hour. Before Molly Weasley with a pointed look at Arthur Weasley that translated into "Stay, you're going to watch Bill" had to leave to care of the Bill's siblings inside the Burrow and left Bill to his observations. With his father, but Bill at that point wasn't even aware of his father being alive and for that matter, didn't notice his father standing under the tree sending him perplexed looks. But even before that… Bill's mind had already committed itself to only letting the tree inside his mind. A tree filled with luscious apples and if you didn't know Bill… well to say it simply, his mind was completely devoid of life outside of apples.

__

My birthday could never have been better, thought Bill contentedly. And then he saw it! The apple he would choose to eat that very day! It was perfect and it was _his_! The healthy sheen of the apple confirmed it's tastiness, the colors were pointedly vivid, and the size was absolutely huge. Now the only problem was getting to it. Bill's lips puckered into a frown. 

The branch would be too wispy to hold his weight for long before snapping and that wouldn't be good at all. He'd fall about twelve to eighteen feet from the ground and maybe even more. Looking down, Bill felt his stomach collapse and sink. The ground drifted farther and farther down till he was sure it was a mile down if he were to fall from the tree.

Suddenly, he felt very sick.

But he wouldn't give up! Bill Weasley, being a Weasley, was not going to give up! Giving up wasn't even in a true Weasleys vocabulary!

He stared fixedly at the apple. If only it would move closer.

And it did. His eyes widened to size of miniature saucers, accentuating his *sky blue eyes.

Almost willingly the apple floated down, wavering every so often because of the wind before placing itself into his open hands. From there the apple ended up into Bill's cupping hands.

Down on the ground, one Arthur Weasley, whom had been left on the ground to watch over his son, was shocked. It took him approximately three seconds to recover his wits. And when he did… he tore off towards the Burrow, bellowing, "Molly! Bill's shown his first sign of magic!"

__

This was the best birthday EVER, thought Bill happily as he bit into his apple. He kept on chewing even when his mum and dad hugged him. And he felt particularly happy that his mum never once, not once! pinched his cheeks.

****

Author's Note: Re-editted first chapter of "Food: Part 1-Fruits" (on ff.net), now named "Fruit of thy Labor". Finished re-editing 12-04-2003, unbeta-ed by any other person than me.

*pippins: any of several varieties of apples

For those who are Lord of the Ring fans… Pippin the hobbit, for that name Pippin actually means: a person or a thing that is admired (it's in the dictionary). Amazing, don't you think? I'm probably not the only one that knows it either, but it's something to know.

*sky blue eyes: Do all Weaselys have blue eyes? It seems that way, following the fanfiction stories here. And blue eyes do look rather nice with red hair (I always thought anyway).


End file.
